Everything is like it used to be:
the same sky, blue again.
The same forest, the same air, and the same water;
just that he didn’t come back from the battle.

 
 
 
 

He couldn’t keep quiet, and didn’t sing on pace.
He always spoke for others.
He didn’t let me sleep, he rose with the sun.
And yesterday he didn’t come back from the battle.

Something feels emtpy now, no doubt about that.
All of a sudden I realized that there were two of us.
To me it seems like the wind blew out the camp fire,
when he didn’t come back from the battle.

Spring just broke out like a prioner from its prison.
By mistake I yelled to him: "Hey mate, stop smoking!"
But the answer was silence.
He didn’t come back from the battle yesterday.

Our dead don’t leave us to our destiny.
Our fallen are like guards.
Heaven reflects in the forest and in the water,
and the trees are light-blue.

In our ground hole there was space well enough for both of us.
Time passed away for both of us.
Now it doesn’t matter any more. It’s just that it seems to me,
that it was I who didn’t return from the battle.